“I have a letter for you, and no end of messages. He came to the door and as he opened it a crack, she pushed herself inside urgently. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. “You were never born,” he declared, “to follow the well worn roads.
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